They had driven in silence for a few minutes before Stiles's ADHD cropped up with a vengeance. He had questions― oodles of questions― that he wanted to throw at the man beside him, and he sat agonizing over what to bombard him with first. A part of Stiles was still bothered that he wanted to jump into bed with a man he knew next to nothing about (especially since that man was Peter).
Hell, even his obsession with Lydia had been about more than just her pretty face, her nice body, her luscious strawberry-blonde hair…
Anyways, it had been everything else about her. And now Stiles wanted to know Peter's 'everything else' and he felt somewhat overwhelmed. Stiles felt Peter's eyes on him and, though he tried to keep from fidgeting restlessly in his seat, suppressing himself only seemed to make things worse.
Sighing softly, Peter cocked his head so he could look at Stiles from more than just the corner of his eye. "You seem antsy. Is there something wrong? Anything you need to ask me?"
Stiles let out an incredulous 'puh' and glanced at the man next to him as often as he dared while trying to keep them on the road. "Uh, only about a million questions. Although a few more have cropped up since this whole...escapade―"
"Escapade?" Peter interrupted, amused.
"Yeah, escapade." Stiles asserted. "When you've only ever had your own hand helping you reach nirvana, getting off three times in as many days with the help of someone else definitely qualifies as an escapade, buddy, and I will not let anyone tell me differently."
Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Well…try to ask one at a time, then" he said, a tiny smile playing around his lips.
"Okay, so…" Stiles breathed out as he slowed down for a four-way stop. "What are you doing? I mean, like, generally? When you're not at the rail depot? Isaac said you're not there all the time, so where do you go? What do you do? Oh god, that was more than one question, wasn't it?" Stiles cringed in his seat, being extraordinarily careful accelerating to avoid grinding in second gear.
Peter looked more than a little bemused by the volley of questions. "You want a play-by-play of my daily movements? And Isaac says I'm creepy," he smirked.
"Hey, Isaac just tried to give me the bad touch against a frickin' tree. I'm willing to be biased if you are," Stiles said, enjoying the banter. There weren't many people who put up with his verbal sparring. It was kind of nice, having someone around who liked it as much as he did. It almost felt like foreplay. "But no, I meant do you have a job or something?"
Peter grimaced at the question, as if it physically pained him. "Not yet, unfortunately. That, like many things, are currently still in the works. And, as much as I'd like, there's only so much I can do to speed up the process."
"'In the works'?" Stiles asked. "'Things'? As in a lot of them? What kind of things?" He couldn't imagine there were many priorities for displaced werewolves beyond 'avoid hunters' and 'brood in abandoned lairs'."
"We're moving to have me declared legally dead," Peter said tonelessly, as though he'd argued the subject so many times that he was emotionally closed off to the issue.
Stiles gaped at him sidelong, only just managing to keep between the lines on the road. "Dead? As in, not living? When you very much are?"
Sighing exasperatedly, Peter let his head fall back on the head rest with a dull 'thunk'. "That doesn't matter."
"How does being alive not matter? What about your old life? Pre-Kate Argent?"
"That life ended the day my family was burned alive," Peter murmured softly, lolling his head to stare vacantly out the passenger window.
And wow, did Stiles suddenly feel like a total ass.
Peter sighed again and shrugged helplessly. "Peter Hale has been documented as a longtime coma patient with extremely limited responsiveness and burns covering half his body. There's no possible way for me to just waltz back into my old life, fully healed and mobile, after disappearing from my hospital bed over three months ago. Not even plastic surgery can explain away my skin. I mean, really, look at this," Peter leaned closer to Stiles, peacocking. "You see how smooth and flawless this is?"
Stiles smiled tentatively at the obvious attempt to lighten the mood. If this was Peter's way of forgiving his lack of tact, then Stiles was definitely on board with it. "Wow, you're not conceited at all, are you? You're convinced," Stiles shot back with a playful smirk.
But he did reach over to stroke the smooth skin of Peter's cheek with his thumb. It really was flawless.
Peter caught his hand and pressed a light kiss to his inner wrist. "Very convinced," Peter purred over the sensitive skin.
Stiles shivered and pulled away, his pants beginning to tighten uncomfortably. Damn charming werewolves and their sex appeal… He cleared his throat. "Right, so no-go after being comatose, got it. So, what are you gonna do?"
"I've had Derek get in touch with our family's old lawyer, both to make arrangements for my official death ruling and for the suit against the hospital. It's slow-going from having to wait out the legalities. But I do have a…less than reputable friend a lot of high-end resources who owes me a favor. For a price, he can virtually create a new life for me: a new social security number, a new history, a new employment record―the works."
"But…?" Stiles prompted, because this felt like a place for a 'but' since clearly there was a reason why 'the works' were still in the works.
"But," Peter allowed, there's a fee and he needs it up front―or most of it, anyways. Which is where the lawsuit comes in. I'm hoping that having my death made official combined with the charges we're pressing will force the hospital to take a settlement to keep the whole thing hushed up. It doesn't look good when a hospital 'loses' a coma patient. Their reputation is on the line."
Stiles nodded to himself, following Peter's reasoning. "Then you'll use the settlement money to pay your guy for a ticket back to a real life. Wait, what about the nurse you killed? The one in the car? I haven't heard anything about her being found, but I just thought it got lost in the wake of the kanima thing. Wouldn't an investigation into her death make things difficult?"
"Only if she's found," Peter said, a sly smile creeping up onto his face. "Until then, no. Derek managed to help me out there without even realizing it. After he killed me, he found the car with my nurse in the trunk and drove it into a water-filled sink hole deep in Beacon Hills Preserve. He figured that the best course of action was to make her disappear. And since I disappeared on the same night, it would look as though she'd had a hand in it somehow, seeing as she was my main nurse and was on shift that night. Oh, and the photos that she took of me probably don't hurt, either. When they're found, I'm sure they'll help make the case that she was obsessed enough with me to go through with kidnapping."
"What?" Stiles squeaked out, stomping on the break a little harder than necessary for the red light of the first intersection into Beacon Hills. "What photos?" A mixture of outrage and jealousy flooded his system at the thought of the crazy bitch snapping shots of his Peter while he was weak and defenseless (never mind that he may have already been a psychotic murderer at the time, but Stiles found himself overlooking a lot of technicalities these days).
"Mostly of my face―the good side. I think there may have been a few of my chest, but I wasn't really mentally present during them. Possibly one or two below the waist line. Who know? Maybe I was responding better to stimulus than they have on record." Peter cocked his head and studied Stiles with interest. "You know, as flattering and intoxicating as your jealousy is, the light is green, Stiles. Unless you want to wait for the next one?"
Cursing under his breath, Stiles fumbled for the gearshift and coaxed the Jeep through the intersection just as the light turned yellow.
He wasn't sure how much of the 'picture' story was real and how much was just to rile him up, but it didn't really matter since it had the desired effect of making Stiles fume in his seat at the mental image of the bitch stroking Peter's cock to hardness, getting him nice and pretty for a freaking photo―
Peter's hand squeezed firmly around his thigh as the older man leaned over to speak in his ear.
"You have no idea how good you smell like this, but you really don't have to worry. Any erections sustained in her care, theoretical or otherwise, are nothing compared to how hard I get just from thinking about you."
"Well, ain't you sweet," Stiles drawled sarcastically as he tried for stoicism― which, as it turns out, isn't easy when the hand on your thigh moves up to cup you through your jeans. Stiles may have nearly overcorrected the Jeep into the ditch at that.
"I can be very sweet," Peter purred in his ear, his voice husky with double entendre. "I'd be even sweeter," Peter stroked a line across Stiles's cock with his thumb, "but…I think it might be best if we kept the Jeep out of the tree line, don't you?"
And with that, he slid back into his seat, looking far too smug.
"So," Peter said, as if he hadn't just teased Stiles with thoughts of road head, "essentially, I'm waiting for the wheels of the legal system to squeak along so that I can buy a new life because, believe me, the hobo way of life is not as appealing as you might think."
"I dunno," Stiles said absently as they came into town, the street lights along the road cropping up more frequently to bathe them every few seconds with light. "Derek seems to have it down to an art."
"Derek has an endless tap of masochistic tendencies that are in desperate need of therapy. Most of us are somewhat attached to clean clothes and basic utilities," Peter countered.
Stiles snorted at the jab, officially calmed down from his jealousy fit. "I guess Derek's the one making the arrangements? For the legal stuff?"
Peter nodded.
"He's my go-between with the lawyer. It's been like pulling teeth sometimes, getting him to ask the right questions, fill out the proper paperwork… Most of the time, all he wants to do is search for his betas. I have to keep reminding him that the sooner the legal hoops are jumped through, the sooner I can pick up the slack on the illegal end and be out of his hair. For the most part. I still need him in some regard as my Alpha otherwise I risk falling to omega status. You know, coming back from the dead was the easy part; dealing with all the paperwork is the real hard part."
He folded his arms petulantly, seeming highly put upon at having to bribe his way back to independence.
"I'll try to remember that that if I ever want to come back from the dead," Stiles quipped. He felt his attention beginning to wander to the prospect of food as they passed fast food joint after fast food joint. "So, what are you going to call yourself?" he asked curiously.
Peter raised an eye brow at him. "Peter Hale."
"What? No, you can't use the same name."
"Why not? Peter retorted. "It's hardly unique. And it's mine."
"Really?" Stiles threw back incredulously. "Really? A Peter Hale gets declared legally dead in Beacon Hills, then another just so happens to crop up in his place?"
"A comatose and badly scarred Peter Hale will be declared legally dead. Do I look comatose and badly scarred to you?"
"Just― Really? You don't see the problem with using your own name?" Stiles asked, with no small amount of aggression as they pulled onto his street.
"Problems? What problems? Who in their right mind is going to connect the healthy Peter Hale to the one who was an inch from death? What idiot would believe―"
"The Argents," Stiles interrupted heatedly as they pulled into his driveway. They jerked to a halt as he parked the Jeep with less care than usual. Stiles fumbled with his seatbelt, irritated beyond belief that Peter, who had nearly died at the hand of an Argent, was refusing to take the danger of putting one too many coincidences in one place seriously.
Peter stared at him, startled into silence by the vehemence in Stiles's voice.
"They know who was responsible for Kate's death," Stiles hissed, "and now that Gerard is dead, what if an entire fleet of them stormed Beacon Hills to wipe out the Hale pack? What if coming back with the same name draws their attention and makes them come looking for you, and they find you, and they―"
The rest of Stiles's tirade was cut off as Peter cupped the nape of his neck and pulled him over to press their lips together, kissing him with a harsh desperation that made Stiles scramble over from the driver's seat into Peter's lap all without breaking the kiss, getting momentarily hung up on the gearshift. Straddling the older man, Stiles fisted Peter's hair and kissed him like he meant to crawl into the older man's skin. Peter gave as good as he got, petting and groping as much of Stiles as he could reach.
It was rough and uncoordinated with a good amount of teeth clashing, but Stiles felt vindicated at releasing his aggression on Peter, who was so frustrating and charming and mind-bogglingly sexy in a way that made Stiles growl deep in his throat and rock his hips down against the older man's.
Peter broke the kiss with a snarl and attacked the vulnerable line of Stiles's neck, making the teen squirm and curse in his lap with every new bruise he raised. Breathing harshly, Peter leaned back to admire his work. "You know, if there was ever a time that I could kick myself for not biting you when I had the chance, it would be now."
Eyes narrowed, Stiles tugged warningly on the handful of hair he was still gripping. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"
Peter's expression darkened.
"Because all I want to do right now is rip off your clothes and just take you, and I can't," he growled from between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing briefly with tightly contained power.
"Yeah? Well, I want a boyfriend who's a little less hell-bent on getting himself riddled with wolfsbane bullets right after he made the effort to come back to life, but we can't all get what we want," Stiles snarled back.
He released his hold on Peter's hair and sat back on the older man's knees, collapsing in on himself a bit. The fight drained out of him and left him feeling absolutely exhausted, uncaring that (in a half-assed sort of way) he had admitted to wanting to be more than just someone to fool around with. The silence around them felt thick with all that they had and hadn't said and, to Stiles, it was suffocating.
Peter was considering him uncertainly.
"You're worried about the Argents killing me?" he asked, the question sounding confused and tinged with disbelief.
Stiles shrugged jerkily, feeling horribly fragile for some reason.
No matter what Peter could call himself, he would always be the potential target of a hunter. But Stiles's unstable concoction of scary/new feelings for Peter made that possibility seem like more of a reality. It was fraying his already damaged nerves that he was more concerned about drawing the wrath of the hunters than Peter was.
"Their leader is dead and their clan is divided. The Argent threat is gone, Stiles. They lost their fight here and most of them have left. They won't come back to look for me, not when they think I'm already dead. They won't make that connection―"
"You don't know that," Stiles interrupted softly, his voice sounding broken even to his own ears. "You can't be sure―"
"I'm never sure," Peter interjected. "Not 100%. Not since the night of my death. I went into that fight feeling sure of my victory and I paid dearly for it. I got my revenge, but I lost my pack and that is a lesson I can't forget. So, no, I'm not sure that the hunters won't come back to Beacon Hills, but I can promise you that they'll have one hell of a fight on their hands if they come for me because I will rip every last hunter to shreds should they try to take me from your side," he finished, his eyes bright with his conviction.
"And if you're worried about me leaving, then stop. The only thing that can force me away from you is you, Stiles. Not Derek, not Scott, or Isaac or anyone else. Just you. The only ones with the power to keep me away with any finiteness is you and death, and you need to understand that," Peter whispered urgently, taking one of Stiles's limp hands into his own and held it, their fingers winding together.
Peter rested his forehead to Stiles's and waited patiently for the teen to look him in the eye longer than in quick glances.
"I have the chance to live again, Stiles, and I'm going to take it. I've suffered too long at the hands of people who would see me dead before letting me live like a normal person. I won't roll over and let them win."
Stiles snorted involuntarily as an image of Peter rolling over like a dog flashed through his mind.
"I mean it," Peter said. He stared earnestly into Stiles's eyes. "I'm not worried about keeping my own name. Of all the things to worry about, that doesn't even make my top ten, right now."
Stiles sniffed brusquely, hoping to play it off as allergies rather than a fight to tamp down the tears that were threatening to fall. "What does make your list?" he asked solemnly, somewhat mollified.
Oddly, Peter seemed to hesitate before smiling reassuringly at Stiles. "Nothing that you need to worry about right now." He passed a critical eye over the teen. "What say you we go inside? Maybe get you into some clothes that haven't been mauled by a horny werewolf?"
Shaking his head in amazement, Stiles reached over and yanked his keys out of the ignition. "Never thought I'd hear you tell me to put my clothes back on." Ignoring Peter's eye roll, he opened the door and all but fell out of the Jeep, Peter's sudden grip on his arm the only thing preventing him from kissing the concrete.
After Peter released him and smoothly (the graceful bastard) got out of the Jeep, they walked up the winding path to the front door.
"You know, it's still a shame that you're not gonna take advantage of the opportunity you have here," Stiles said as he played with his keys. After the tension in Jeep, he felt an overwhelming urge to lighten the mood. He couldn't resist teasing the older man and he hoped Peter would rise to the bait.
"Opportunity?" Peter's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Yeah, you could pick any name you wanted and you're sticking with 'Peter Hale' when you could make it, I dunno, something cool."
Peter huffed indignantly, watching Stiles fiddle with the door lock. "'Peter Hale' is a cool name."
"You're biased," Stiles tossed over his shoulder as he walked into the house, not even checking to see if the older man followed, seemingly confident that Peter just would. He wasn't wrong. The door closing echoed throughout the house and Stiles felt more than heard Peter walking behind him on his way to the kitchen.
"I thought you wanted me to be biased?" Peter asked.
Groaning, Stiles hung his head, shaking it slightly. Jeez, give Peter and inch and he'd take the whole damn county if you let him. Wondering at what exactly he'd gotten himself into, Stiles gazed hopefully into the pantry, searching for a quick meal idea since his brain was too mushy to come up with one off the bat.
"Fine, what would you suggest?" Peter asked, resigned.
"Cliff," Stiles said as he riffled through the boxed food, considering a Hamburger Helper dish for a moment before settling on a mac 'n cheese box. Everyone liked mac 'n cheese. And if Peter didn't like it, then he could eat somewhere else. Right now, Stiles wasn't up to cooking anything that didn't take less than ten minutes.
Peter looked equally horrified and fascinated at Stiles's choice of names. "Cliff. Cliff? What's that supposed to be? Some sort of euphemism for your undying love for me?"
"No, it's more of a word to describe a land feature that ends abruptly and had the potential to kill people painfully and messily, but we can go with your reasoning if you want." Whatever suits your ego, Stiles thought to himself. Undying love, wow…
Stiles busied himself with heating a pot of water on the stove. Turning back for the box of mac n' cheese, he froze at the contemplative look on Peter's face. "Oh god, you like it don't you?" It had been a joke, just a stupid joke to rile the older man up, but Peter actually looked as if he were considering it.
Shrugging nonchalantly, Peter sauntered over. "It's interesting when you put it that way."
Of course it was, Stiles thought. It describes you perfectly.
When Stiles upended the noodles into the water, Peter took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the teen's waist. "I'm still keeping my name," he whispered into Stiles's ear, somehow managing to make the innocent statement sound incredibly dirty. Stiles was starting to accept that as one of Peter's quirks.
"Whatever floats your boat, dude," Stiles sighed, gently stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon. A thought occurred to him. "So…was that our first fight?" he asked, his hand pausing over the pot.
Peter rested his chin on Stiles's shoulder, humming to himself. "I suppose. Why? Eager for make-up sex?"
Glancing curiously at Peter from the corner of his eye, Stiles went back to stirring. "Is make-up sex better than regular sex?" Because, if it was, the idea of picking a fight to up the ante in bed suddenly sounded a lot less suicidal. Okay, not by much, but it was still something. Or it might just be that he was eager for sex of any kind. Stiles wasn't picky.
"It can be," Peter murmured in his ear.
Stiles shivered as Peter started pressing butterfly-soft kisses down his neck. It was weird how the barely-there touch felt almost as hot as Peter's pseudo-vampire attack in the Jeep.
Leaving the spoon to sit in the boiling pot, Stiles leaned back into Peter's chest and rested his head on the older man's shoulder, basking in the attention from Peter's wandering hands and lips. Peter had found the holes that Isaac's claws had made in his jeans and was mercilessly rubbing the exposed skin there in tight circles, driving Stiles crazy bit by bit.
Stiles's cock throbbed impatiently but no matter how pointedly he rolled his hips or tugged at Peter's shirt sleeves, Peter steadfastly kept his caresses away from where Stiles wanted them most. Releasing a frustrated whine, Stiles turned his head to meet Peter in a needy kiss, only the older man seemed determined to keep it just as slow and gentle as his touches, resisting Stiles's attempts to deepen it. Giving up, Stiles slouched back against Peter's chest, ignoring the feeling of Peter smiling in victory.
Because it wasn't a victory.
It wasn't.
It just took him a few seconds to realize that he liked this too, kissing soft and sweet and unhurried.
The only thing that would have made it better was if they were horizontal (though Stiles suspected that it was because he wanted to do other horizontal things).
But the phone blowing up in his pocket—that could stop.
Stiles was content simply ignoring it, but Peter didn't seem to agree with him. Breaking the kiss, the older man dug the offending device out of Stiles's pocket for him and oh so nicely handed it over after glancing at the screen. Stiles considered it a new low that he was being cock-blocked by his lover. Maybe it was because he still smelled a bit like Isaac yet?
Though he couldn't see how with Peter rubbing against him like a giant cat.
Werecat?
Sending Peter a sour look, Stiles groaned before answering the call. "Hey Scott," he said with less than usual enthusiasm. "What's up?"
"Hey, are you doing anything right now?" Scott asked.
Stiles eyed Peter petulantly from over his shoulder. "No, why?" Even though he'd like to be.
As if sensing Stiles's annoyance, Peter smirked to himself as he reached around the teen to stir the boiling pot, clearly listening in on the conversation.
"I was wondering if you wanted to come over to study for next week's finals. If I bomb any of the tests, I'll get held back. I could really use the help, dude," Scott pleaded.
Torn between wanting to stay with Peter and going to his buddy's aid, Stiles floundered awkwardly for a moment. "Um…I'm…kinda in the middle of cooking dinner right now…might be a while…" Stiles hedged. If another 5 to 10 minutes could be called 'a while'.
He was half aware of Scott's response as a strange trill sounded in the room. Looking over his shoulder in confusion, Stiles saw Peter frowning as he dug his own phone out of his pocket, grimacing as he read the text he'd just received.
Scott's voice became background noise as Stiles focused on the screen Peter held up for him to read.
Get back to the depot. Need to talk. NOW.
It was from Derek, and there was little doubt in Stiles's mind of what the topic of discussion would be. "Seriously?" he whispered, upset by just how much the universe was against him and his happy times.
Peter merely shrugged, forcing a look of passive indifference onto his face. He made to tuck his phone away, but Stiles snatched it out of his hand.
If Stiles couldn't have everything go his way, then he was going to dig in his heels until something gave. He was tired of making concessions for everyone. It was his damn turn to make demands.
"Stiles? Hello?"
"What? Oh, uh," Stiles stalled as he typed out a quick reply to Derek's message.
This is Stiles. Im keeping Peter for dinner. U can hav him back after we done.
"Sorry dude, was messing with something. Um, maybe give me an hour or so then I can head over. Sound good?"
"Yeah, that's great" Scott said, sounding relieved. "Just send me a text when you're heading this way."
Peter's phone went off in Stiles's hand. "Sure thing," Stiles said, then ended the call. He opened the message, incredibly aware of Peter's chin resting on his shoulder as the man read the screen.
Fine. Don't give me that much information again.
Stiles stared at the screen, confused. "Why wouldn't he want to know why you might be late?"
Peter's chuckle vibrated all along Stiles's back. "He thinks we're having," nipped at Stiles earlobe, "dinner," he finished huskily.
Stiles had to clear his throat before he could respond, his cock twitching with interest. He was very on board with the idea of dinner. "Pervert much?"
Peter snorted at him, probably smelling the arousal coming off his skin. "Yes, well, if the interrupting duo weren't doing their best to ruin the night, dinner would be followed with dinner, but…" he trailed off crisply with a trace of irritation, turning off the burner with a precise flick of his wrist. Peter moved away to poke around in the cabinets under the countertop, breathing out a sigh as he went.
Stiles pursed his lips moodily at Peter's back. "We still could," he insisted softly, hopeful even with the new time constraints.
"I don't like to be rushed. Especially since it'll be your first time, officially. I want to have all the time in the world when I take you apart," Peter said as he came back to the stove with a strainer. "And I don't know about you, but it kinda kills the mood knowing that I'd have to drag myself out of your bed to go smooth Derek's feathers.
A brief shiver ran down Stiles's spine, already anticipating full-out sex with Peter. "How did you know where that was?" He asked, belatedly realizing that Peter had found the strainer far too easily.
At Stiles's surprised expression, Peter smiled mischievously. "I familiarized myself with the kitchen when you were talking with Scott two nights ago." He took up the pot and made his way to the sink.
"Wow, that was nosy of you," said Stiles as he followed after Peter with the cheese packet, tossing it up onto the counter on his way to the fridge for skim milk and low sodium butter. In hind sight, Stiles supposed he should have expected that Peter would snoop when he left to his own devices.
"What, you expected me to sit quietly at the table, twiddling my thumbs, while you and Scott talked about me? I needed something to entertain myself."
Stiles snorted. "And my phone wasn't enough for you?" He set the remaining ingredients down on the counter, watching as Peter finished draining off the water. He kind of liked how Peter jumped in to help with the dinner preparations. It reminded Stiles of how his dad would help him finish cooking after coming home from work, but those times were few and far between now that his dad worked odd hours to help fill shifts in the understaffed police department.
A smirk twitched at Peter's lips. "Of course not. I needed much more of a distraction to keep from throttling Scott after the incident with the stairs. Between him and Isaac, I'm not sure who I want to dismember more."
"Well, if that's your scale, does that mean Derek gets off with a maiming?" Stiles asked jokingly as he tossed a splash of milk and a spoonful of butter into the pot, smiling until he saw the veiled anger in Peter's eyes. "My nephew's hurt you?" Peter asked. His body language was deceptively calm, but the tension in his jaw and the icy gray of his eyes said better.
Aw fuck…hello, Scary Peter.
"What?― No!" Stiles said as he scrambled to pacify the (reformed?) murderer. "Not really. I mean, he's never broken skin or anything. Derek just doesn't know his own strength, is all. He's like a puppy. With really big teeth. But anyways, it's nothing to freak out about, I kinda deserved it. I used him as eye candy to extract a favor out of someone. Ironically, to try to find you, so…no need to go all 'avenging angel'. On anyone. Are you gonna finish―? Y'know, I'll just take over…"
Stiles cautiously inched the pot away from Peter since it didn't look like he was going to continue mixing the mac 'n cheese.
Peter's eyes were narrowed, his displeasure obvious. "And what exactly should I do since every werewolf around you thinks it's fine to abuse you?"
Stiles paused mid-stir and rolled his eyes at Peter's melodrama. "Okay, first off? Only half of them could be counted as abuse. And second, I hope you're including yourself in that list too, buddy." He gave the cooling pasta a few more vigorous stirs before going in search of plates.
"Include myself how? I haven't once forced you into anything you didn't want," Peter said heatedly, his arms crossed defensively across his chest, leaning back against the counter.
Ok, maybe spreading the blame hadn't been the best way to calm Peter down. "I meant the whole smashing my face into a laptop thing, not" he gestured between himself and Peter, "with this."
Peter aggressively snatched up the milk and butter off of the counter and strode angrily (because Peter Hale does not stomp) to the fridge to shove them inside it. "That was different."
Seriously?
"Not really, dude." Stiles arranged a couple plates and forks down at the table. "But now that I think about it, the family resemblance between you and Derek is unreal. You're both fond of slamming my face into things." He turned to look at Peter and nearly knocked a fork to the floor when he found the older man at his elbow, balancing the pot of mac 'n cheese in one hand and two glasses of tea in the other. "Would it kill you to make a little noise?" Stiles grumbled.
Fucking werewolves and their silent footsteps. If it wasn't kanimas and hunters trying to kill him, it was werewolves popping up out of nowhere, trying to give him a heart attack. Inwardly though, Stiles was rather impressed that Peter had managed to pour tea from the pitcher in the fridge without him hearing it. It was fucking creepy as all hell, but it was still impressive.
Peter smirked as he set his handfuls on the table. "It wouldn't, but then I'd miss watching you flail around like an octopus out of water," he said, smug at having surprised Stiles. Thankfully, he no longer seemed on the verge of inflicting bodily harm (no more than usual, at least).
Relieved that Peter's mood had swung back to manageable levels, Stiles playfully elbowed the man in the ribs, smiling when he was elbowed in return. This was the Peter that he liked best―that he could handle.
And after finally sitting down to eat, it struck Stiles how…nice…this was, getting to spend time with Peter―actual time, when they weren't groping at each other like teenagers (ignoring the fact that Stiles was a teenager). If someone had told him―even a week ago― that he and Peter would be having a domestic moment in his kitchen, he'd have recommended they get their head examined.
But this was nice, Stiles liked this. And it kind of sucked that he had less than an hour to enjoy it.
Peter must have sensed the slump in his mood because the older man stopped eating and stared at him. "What's wrong?" he asked, when Stiles pushed a misshapen noodle around with his fork instead of eating it.
Startled, Stiles finally speared the noodle and ate it, shrugging. "Just looking forward to spending the rest of the night studying for finals," he muttered sarcastically. Especially when he could be doing something productive. Like losing his virginity.
Peter hummed thoughtfully.
"Maybe tonight won't be a total loss."
"Don't really see how," Stiles groused around a mouthful of mac 'n cheese. Scott was his best friend and all, but having someone around who wanted to touch his cock was hard to top. Now that he fully appreciated the appeal, Stiles had to cut his friend some slack for constantly ditching him for Allison (some slack, not all of it).
"How curious are you about 69-ing?" Peter asked, calm and collected as if he were talking about the weather.
Not surprisingly, Stiles's appetite perked right back up.